


Highest fall you'll ever grace

by laireshi



Category: Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, Civil War (Marvel), Director Stark, Dog Tags, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Iron Man: Director of SHIELD, M/M, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: “You’ll probably want these back,” Tony says at last, and it hurts almost physically to pull the dog tags over his head and offer them to Steve. But they never really belonged to Tony, did they?Steve seems to hesitate for a second, but then he takes his dog tags with a weird expression. “Yeah,” he says. “They’re mine.”





	Highest fall you'll ever grace

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [坠欢重拾 Highest Fall You'll Ever Grace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885738) by [AkiJune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiJune/pseuds/AkiJune)



> This is written for the Steve/Tony Anniversary Anthology, to go with [the most beautiful art ever by Shaliara](http://shaliara.tumblr.com/post/166088721964/youll-probably-want-these-back-tony-says-at)! Tell her it's great!
> 
> You can download the Anthology, which is almost 600 pages of Steve/Tony awesome, [here](https://stevetonystudios.itch.io/sa3-anthology). Thanks for doing it, mods! 
> 
> Thanks for beta to [runningondreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams) :) 
> 
> We had the luck to be able to brainstorm it with Shaliara in real life, and the consensus was: we need Tony angst and dog tags. It was lots of fun :D

1\. 

Tony makes a soft, pleading sound. He reaches out for Steve. He's not fully aware, but something woke him. He can't find Steve on the other side of bed, so he sits up, disoriented, and looks around, until he sees Steve already dressed in his uniform trousers on the other side of the bedroom. 

Steve looks sheepish. “I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you.”

“You're leaving,” Tony says, accusatory.

“I've got a mission, sleepyhead. Remember?”

In the back of Tony's mind, Extremis pulls up the mission details and a memory of Steve telling him about it. Tony nods, but he's still frowning. “You meant to leave without kissing me goodbye?”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it. “It's a quick thing,” he says finally. “You get too little sleep as it is.”

“Yeah, waking up to you already gone would be _so much better_ ,” Tony says. 

“I'm sorry,” Steve says. “Here, I—”

Tony's expecting the kiss now; he’s half-tempted to make it more heated than a goodbye kiss should really be, but instead Steve kneels on the mattress in front of Tony, and cradles Tony's hands in one of his. With his free hand, he reaches for his dog tags, and before Tony can really understand what Steve's doing, he puts them around Tony's neck.

They rest against his chest comfortably, heated from Steve's body warmth.

“Take care of these for me,” Steve says, something serious in his voice.

Tony swallows. There's a million questions in his head, but he knows this is not the place for any of them. “I will.”

Steve smiles. He leans down and kisses Tony briefly, and then he goes back to dressing himself, and then he leaves.

When Steve's back a couple days later, Tony pulls off his dog tags and offers them back. He already feels cold without them, stupidly so, but they’re Steve's. He just . . . lent them to Tony.

But Steve's looking at him like Tony's gone mad. “What are you doing?” he asks. “They're yours.”

Tony blinks. “You mean . . .”

“I mean I love you, Tony Stark,” Steve says, every word ringing with absolute honesty, “and my life is yours. Keep the dog tags, Tony. I want you to have them, for as long as you have me.”

“Forever, then,” Tony says, honesty for honesty.

“Forever,” Steve agrees with a soft smile.

2.

Tony wears the dog tags all the time. He keeps them carefully hidden—it wouldn't change anything if the team knew, but it's _theirs, his and Steve's_ , private. And he can't afford to let them show during a business negotiation, or in all his meetings with the politicians, all the shady offers he's denying, all the ones that he has to accept.

The draft is growing, sometimes full of horrors, sometimes littered with things that Tony might just be able to support and still live with himself—barely. 

But finally, it's on his desk, a thick folder titled the Superhero Registration Act, and Tony sighs. He uses Extremis to lock his office with a thought, leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. He feels like he's suffocating. It’s a stupid, emotional reaction that he has no use for right now.

Steve will never agree to this.

Tony takes off the dog tags for the first time in months, and even that feels like a betrayal. He sets them on top of the folder, near the TOP SECRET stamp on it, and sighs.

Tony doesn't like the SHRA, but he knows the alternatives, and he's a good futurist. Sooner or later, they'll be forced to yield to a similar legislation, but then, it won't be on their terms at all.

It's better to agree now to something that can still be salvaged, changed in their favour.

Steve won't see it this way.

Tony puts his head in his hands. He has to make Steve see. Before he talks to anyone else, he has to talk to Steve. Because if Steve doesn't agree . . . 

Tony's not going there. They'll be able to talk it out, Tony's sure. They're both more willing to listen to each other, now.

He sighs and puts the dog tags back on, and only lets himself breath deeper now. 

He'll talk to Steve tomorrow. And the day after. He'll talk to Steve until Steve understands.

For now he's tired; too tired to function, much less be as persuasive and charismatic as he needs to be for this. He hides the folder in his safe, locks it to his biometrics, and heads upstairs. 

Steve's already in bed, but he leans into Tony as soon as Tony lies down, wraps him in a tight embrace. “Love you,” he whispers.

“You too,” Tony says kissing the closest part of Steve he can reach—his arm. “G'night.”

They're woken up by the news of the Stamford catastrophe.

And as Tony’s standing in the charring remains of what used to be a school, the true horror settles.

He’s been too late. And now they're not getting a choice.

3.

There's a war in the streets of New York, and Tony needs the impossible to make it stop: Steve to agree with him.

Tony can't remember the last time he slept; he's thinking of drinking all the time, _he wants Steve to be next to him_. The dog tags are around his neck, and he holds them in his hands, and looks for a moment of comfort in them.

Steve’s already slapped an EMP to Tony's armour. Tony couldn't have brought himself to fight back with all he had anyway.

They love each other. Tony knows that this, at least, has not changed. Maybe they can still _talk_ , maybe if it's just the two of them . . .

He calls Steve and asks to meet in the Mansion ruins, and heads there. He wants to be hopeful. He's a lousy futurist.

(What Tony learns there is: they can't talk without punching each other, and love doesn't always make things easier: it makes them hurt more, too).

4\. 

He's gripping the dog tags so hard he thinks they're cutting his skin, and it's not important.

Nothing is important, nothing but Steve, killed and gone and dead and it's Tony's fault.

He breaks down at the funeral. He’s not sure how to go on. There's just emptiness inside him. Steve's dead. Tony might as well have killed him himself.

5\. 

_It wasn't worth it_.

6.

He's still wearing the dog tags every day, even under the Director of SHIELD uniform. Steve's gone, but the dog tags are a lifeline for Tony—even if they're nothing but a lie.

Steve would probably rip them from Tony's neck himself.

It's a good thing Tony’s wearing the armour almost exclusively these days. No one can see him crying.

He thinks he can't go on. The dog tags are heavy on his neck, even now a reminder he can’t take the easy way out and shoot himself. _Steve would never forgive him._

As if Steve would forgive him anything else.

So he works. It's the only outlet he has.

If he's hoping a bullet will make it through his armour . . . no one has to know.

7.

Tony barely sleeps, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need much sleep, with Extremis keeping his body in working order. (Steve wouldn’t agree, but Steve’s dead, and it’s Tony’s fault.)

He thinks he is sleeping, now, though, because Steve’s still alive, and he’s playing with the dog tags on Tony’s neck, smiling . . . 

_Steve’s dead and it’s a dream and it’ll only hurt when you wake up_ , Tony remembers all at once and sits up, gasping for breath.

Someone’s in his bedroom. 

Before Tony can react, Steve’s strangling him. “You killed me,” he says. “You don’t deserve these dog tags.”

Tony keeps his eyes open wide but doesn’t fight. It doesn’t make any sense, but if—if whatever this is can kill him, Tony won’t fight it. 

He’s got Extremis now; maybe his hallucinations could stop his heart.

But Steve disappears in the next moment, and Tony’s left spread on the floor, breathing hard, his hand curled protectively around the dog tags. They’re all he has left of Steve, or more specifically, of the Steve that once loved him. 

Tony’s pathetic enough to cling to the memories, now. 

He’s still tired; he knows he won’t try sleeping again. He doesn’t want to deal with his sub-directors’ questions right now. He doesn’t want to deal with anything, really. He drives until he’s out of the city centre, stops at the first liquor store he sees. He buys a bottle of vodka and doesn’t care if the clerk recognizes him.

(He hates vodka, its strong smell, the foul taste, but that’s the point, he doesn’t deserve the rich tones of whiskey, not anymore.)

He drives further on, until he hits the highway out of New York. As if that changes anything, as if he’s any less recognizable outside the city, as if Hill couldn’t find him if she really tried. He stops at the first motel he sees, a dark, murky building, asks for a single room; he pays with cash and takes the key. His room is exactly as crappy as the peeling exterior suggests, but it doesn’t matter, it’s exactly what Tony wants now, a too hard, too small bed with dark brown duvet and two smudge-marked glasses on the table.

He pours himself a glass without really thinking, but his hands are shaking. He spills the alcohol over his fingers and the desk and finally sets the bottle down, the glass still half-empty. 

_What am I doing_?, he thinks, but the answer doesn’t come to him.

He clutches the glass like a lifeline and lies down and tries not to cry, but he can’t stop thinking of Steve, he _can’t_.

Steve’s been right. Tony doesn’t deserve the dog tags. He pulls them off his neck, but can’t seem to let them go, so he ends up gripping them in one hand, the glass in his other hand, and he thinks he’s crying, but that too doesn’t matter. He could drink. He wants to drink this glass, and the next, until the bottle is empty and he stops worrying, always worrying. He wants to be drunk and never sober up. What’s the point?

Steve’s dead. Steve’s not coming back.

It hits him, then, in a way it hasn’t before: Steve’s dead, and he hated Tony by the end of it, but Steve of all people would _never_ want Tony to drink again, to throw everything away in a dingy motel.

Why does _this_ still matter? Why is it Tony _still_ can’t bear to disappoint Steve even when he’s dead?

He lets out a scream, and he throws the glass at the wall, hard enough to shatter it; he puts the dog tags back around his neck and stands up to pour out what’s left in the bottle. A sudden, sharp pain in his feet makes him stop mid-step and curse aloud. He must’ve stepped on broken glass, but it doesn’t matter, the wound will soon heal and he can’t get infected with Extremis. Pain is almost good, it helps him focus his thoughts.

He pours the rest of the vodka down the sink, his hands steady this time, and throws the bottle in the trash can. He cleans up the broken glass with his bare hands. He cuts his fingers, but that’s also good, every flash of pain making him more stable.

Finally, he stands in the middle of the room, looks around himself, at the stains, both from alcohol and his blood, and he slides down to his knees and sobs or maybe laughs.

 _More stable_ , indeed. 

He didn’t drink. That’s one victory. Tony doesn’t have another one in him tonight.

He lies on top of the sheets, and he doesn’t sleep, but he closes his eyes and works on breathing regularly and he does not think of Steve.

8\. 

He’s not suited to be the Director of SHIELD, he knows that, and he tries to make up for it: build better protective gear for his— _his_ , he’ll never get used to that—agents, go himself for the really dangerous operations that don’t have to be stealthy. 

Maria Hill and Dugan speak in one voice about it: he’s the Director, he should keep out of the field, but Tony’s _not_ a soldier, and they can shut up. 

It’s not ideal, but it’s not _terrible_ , and Tony thinks this is all he can hope for, now.

He misses Steve.

9\. 

The news sounds like all his dreams came true, so it must be fake.

“It’s not him,” Tony says, carefully stripping his voice of any emotions. He can’t let himself believe otherwise.

“It is him,” Carol replies, holding him by his arm. She seems worried. She should be. This is impossible. “I talked to him,” Carol says, “Stephen says he checked, and it is him.”

 _I talked to him_. Tony doesn’t know why it stings. It’s not like they were even friends at the end. Tony got Steve killed. If Steve’s really miraculously back, why would he come to Tony first? 

The dog tags are around Tony’s neck, as always, and he knows why it hurts so much. 

“Tony,” Carol says, “please, come with me.”

He knows what she’ll say next, so he nods, the armour disassembling from around him, leaving him only in the gold underarmour, the dog tags thankfully covered by it. Carol catches him by his arm again almost immediately, as if expecting him to fall down. 

He can’t blame her. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t have the armour on. 

“Put some normal clothes on,” she says.

“I don’t have the armour, isn’t that enough?” he asks, but he knows it’s not. He knows exactly what his one-time-friends think of him. He doesn’t even blame them, but he’s so lost, _Steve is back_ warring inside his head with _Steve is dead and you killed him_. 

Carol shakes her head, walks straight to his wardrobe and throws some clothes from it at Tony. He sighs, but gathers them, and pulls them on as the gold undersuit recedes back into his skin: simple black jeans, blue t-shirt. He’s pretty sure the clothes were tailored for him, but they’re too big now, the trousers hanging too low on his hips, the t-shirt too wide. 

It’s not important.

He needs to know. 

“I’ll fly us,” Carol says, and Tony nods.

She picks him up, bridal style, and he doesn’t even protest, because _Steve might be alive_.

(Even this much hope is too much.)

***

Tony expected all of the New Avengers to be there, but as soon as Carol leads him inside, someone says, “Guys, leave them alone,” and he only has a second to glance at some faces—Jessica Drew, Luke Cake—as they’re leaving.

And then he’s in a room with a man who’s certainly looking like Steve, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Carol and Stephen are still lingering in the doorway, and Tony knows it’s worry, for one or both of them, but suddenly he understands this won’t work with an audience. If this is Steve, and Tony’s been reassured so, they need to do this alone.

He’s opening his mouth to speak, but the other man beats him to it. 

“Carol, doctor Strange, please leave us alone,” he says, and it’s Steve’s voice coming from his mouth. 

Tony nods, and Carol and Stephen retreat. And just like that, they’re alone, Tony and Steve after a war that might as well have killed them both.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

This is not what Tony expected. This is so far from what Tony’s expected, he’s not sure what to do. He wants to kiss Steve and hug him tight and never let him go again, but that’s not his place anymore.

“You’re back,” Tony says at last, awkward and unsure. “You’re really back.”

Steve shrugs. “I wasn’t really dead.”

Ah. The time bullet, Carol mentioned that. Tony’s not interested in the specifics, not at this precise moment, not when he can _see_ Steve.

“I’m back,” Steve allows after a moment. 

Tony _crumbles_. 

He doesn’t fall down, but that’s just because Steve’s arms catch him and lower him gently, and Tony almost doesn’t care, he’s sobbing, but there’s this one thing Steve must know, this one thing he’d asked before—before—

“It wasn’t worth it,” Tony whispers, and finally makes his confession to a Steve who can hear him.

Because _Steve’s alive_ , and it changes _everything_.

***

“You’ll probably want these back,” Tony says at last, and it hurts almost physically to pull the dog tags over his head and offer them to Steve. But they never really belonged to Tony, did they?

Steve seems to hesitate for a second, but then he takes his dog tags with a weird expression. “Yeah,” he says. “They’re mine.”

It hurts. But Steve’s back. And nothing else matters.

“What will you do now?” Tony asks. It’s easier, in a way, to talk to Steve now, because after crying and sobbing and apologising, he almost feels empty. It won’t last, he knows that, but he’ll use it for now. 

Steve bites his lip, like he’s uncertain. It’s not a fitting look for him. “I _didn’t_ die,” he says. “ _You_ certainly didn’t kill me. But I was gone, and the world changed. I’m familiar with the phenomenon, but I think I need time.”

Tony swallows. “Call me,” he says. “If you need anything at all.”

“Dangerous offer, from a director of SHIELD.”

Tony looks down. Steve has no reason to trust him. Of course.

“I’m kidding, Tony,” Steve says. “There _are_ things I’m still mad about, more than I can express, but I know you won’t betray me.”

Tony tries to smile, but he’s not sure he knows how to do it anymore. 

***

When he leaves the room, Carol’s still waiting for him, and Tony just clings to her silently.

10\. 

The next time Tony sees Steve again is when the public finds out about the return of Steve Rogers, Captain America.

It’s on a battlefield. There are news copters above them, and waves of Skrulls around them. Extremis and most of Tony’s tech have been compromised, and he’s in an old armour, a headache almost killing him, but he has to help the others.

So Iron Man and Captain America fight back to back, as if they never stopped being friends, and the Skrulls attacking them quickly end up dead. One attacks Tony, wearing Steve’s face—and Tony freezes. He knows the real Steve is behind him. He’s not sure he’s willing to risk it anyway. 

There’s a quick movement, and a familiar shield kills the Skrull. 

“I’m here,” Steve says, easily, like it’s not a big deal, and they go back to fighting. 

It’s quick, after that; Iron Man and Captain America are always lethally effective together. Tony fires repulsors at the hoards of Skrulls, looking for their queen.

And then he sees a Skrull with Tony’s face attacking Steve, and Steve hesitating, his shield raised high.

Tony remembers this scene, Steve kneeling over him, the certainty that Steve would kill him, the _finish it_ that escaped his lips.

The Skrull says, “I thought we were friends.”

“I’m friends with Tony all right,” Steve snarls, “but he’d never say that.” 

Steve brings the shield down in one smooth motion. The body morphs quickly, no longer a beheaded Tony, but a tall Skrull woman warrior. 

It hits Tony a moment later. Not just _a warrior_. Veranke.

Tony walks to Steve slowly.

“Thanks,” he says.

Steve looks around, back at Tony. “So that was the queen.” He hesitates. “Tony—you have to know—I _knew_ it was a Skrull.”

“I heard her,” Tony says. “I know.”

“I wouldn’t have risked—” Steve stops himself. “You _know_?” he makes sure. “I did almost kill you in that fight. I wouldn’t have—but it was so close.” He sounds anguished.

“I know,” Tony says, even if he had spent months hoping Steve had killed him right then. “I know.”

Steve nods, and that’s it. 

***

Afterwards, Tony has _himself_ to fix, first and foremost. The Skrull’s virus messed with his own systems and his body, and he needs Reed’s help to get rid of it completely. He can’t risk so much as touching anything else before he’s sure it’s safe for him to interact with tech. It takes him almost two days of constant work, but finally the virus is gone.

Most of the SI systems come back online, once he knows how to reverse the failures and employs fixes with Extremis’ help until he can guarantee everything’s safe once again. It’s not just military equipment: it’s stuff like StarkPhones and making sure they won’t explode in someone’s pocket, it’s StarkPads, it’s a million tiny things that all need to be checked.

He knows he should show up at SHIELD, probably to be demoted immediately, and that’s a relief, in a way—but he doesn’t have time just yet, there are still too many things to fix. 

Reed lets him stay in the Baxter Building, and Tony codes and runs scans on himself and the armour to make sure everything is still okay.

He’s almost too busy to think about Steve—but he catches himself remembering their last conversation over and over, because it clearly mattered to Steve, and Tony doesn’t get why. 

Steve’s a good man. He wouldn’t kill Tony. That’s obvious. He didn’t need to say it like that.

Tony doesn’t get it. 

Once he’s sure his tech is operational again, he’ll go out. He’ll apologise. He should’ve seen the attack coming, he didn’t, and that’s on him. But he’s going to work to make it better. 

What else can he do? 

***

Tony’s working, but he hears the news.

Steve Rogers gets the presidential pardon and is called Commander Rogers now. SHRA is, finally, lifted. The New Avengers come out of hiding. 

It’s all good. 

Tony continues with the next system. There won’t be place for him in the world when he’s done, but that’s not a problem.

11.

Tony’s plan was to go to SHIELD, but Steve comes to him first. 

“Reed let me in,” he explains. His new suit is way too distracting, and Tony wonders briefly who made it and if it is bulletproof and if Steve’s really safe in a body-tight fabric. 

“It’s okay,” Tony says. He pushes himself away from the keyboard and turns to face Steve. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Steve frowns. “What for?”

“Steve, you might’ve missed this, but I am—I was the Director of SHIELD.”

“ _Are_ ,” Steve corrects him, and this doesn’t make any sense. “Continue.”

“It was my duty to learn about this invasion. Stop them before it got so bad. I should’ve made sure Extremis was immune to viruses—”

“Okay,” Steve interrupts. “For a while, I thought you were going to say you were sorry for fighting while you were so sick, but clearly that’ll never happen.” He sighs. “Tony. Veranke’s attack wasn’t your fault. No one could’ve foreseen this.”

“I should’ve,” Tony mutters, because he prides himself on being a futurist. And without that, what does he have left?

“We’d have to test you for an X-Gene if you did,” Steve says. “Look, it all ended well.”

“Everyone knows you’re back now,” Tony mutters.

Steve shrugs. “It’s not a bad thing,” he says. “That it came out like this.”

Tony knows that, from a political point of view. A national hero, miraculously back from the dead to save them from an invasion? Steve could’ve asked to be made president and they would’ve complied. Except, of course, Steve was better than that.

And Steve himself had said he wanted to stay hidden for a bit.

“Commander Rogers?” Tony asks, gesticulating at Steve’s uniform.

“I couldn’t take the shield from Bucky,” Steve explains. Tony had guessed as much. “But you’re missing one variable here.”

“You repealed SHRA. Finally.”

Steve nods. “Of course. And—you told me, why you fought for SHRA. So I know you’re happy about it being gone. But one more thing, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head. They’re still not friends. He’s not sure what to think.

“I’m Commander Rogers,” Steve says. “But my condition was that you remain the Director of SHIELD.”

Tony’s face falls.

“You don’t have to,” Steve hurries to add. “But I’d like you to, I think. Things changed. I’ll need your help.”

“You hate me,” Tony says. He doesn’t say he hates the job, because if Steve really wants him to stay, he will. For as long as he has to. 

Steve looks away. “I’ve never hated you, Tony. I always loved you, even when we fought.”

Tony shakes his head. “Don’t lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m always honest,” Steve says, and Tony doesn’t mention the little EMP breaking his armour. Steve takes a long breath. “That’s why I was so mad. That’s why that fight was so bad. Because I loved you, and you were on the other side. This doesn’t make me a good man.”

Tony looks down. He knows how that feels. He’s not sure what to do with the information that _Steve_ apparently felt exactly the same during their war. 

“And the last weeks . . . I thought a lot about what you said, about SHRA, your motivations. I wish you’d told me before we started fighting, Tony. I wish you weren’t willing to sacrifice our friendship, our relationship, to do what you thought was right.”

“I can’t apologise for that.” There’s steel in Tony’s voice, because this is important. “I—I don’t think I’d be able to do it again, and that scares me, because at some point, we might find ourselves in a similar position. But I had to do what was right.”

“I know,” Steve says. “And I don’t expect otherwise. That’s the Tony Stark I love.”

Tony shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“What annoys me—what still makes me mad—is that you _didn’t tell me_ what was going on. You just decided for me. _Of course_ I disagreed with you, not knowing—”

“You have no idea how to compromise, Steve,” Tony snaps. He hates himself for it, already destroying even attempts at fixing their friendship, but he has to say it. “Tell me you would’ve agreed.”

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “I also can’t tell you I would’ve fought against you. I don’t think you would’ve fought like that. I think, _together_ , we could’ve found a compromise that I’m willing to make.”

“I know you,” Tony says.

“Maybe you don’t know me that well,” Steve answers, and this stings, even now. “Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have tried making these decisions for me.”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Steve,” he says. “What you’re saying now—it might be true in the future. I hope we don’t have to test it, but I believe you. But with the SHRA . . . You know how it ended, you know what it did to you, to me. That’s why you want to think it could’ve happened otherwise, but it _couldn’t have_.” It couldn’t have. Tony had run the possibilities in his head _so many times_. He could’ve stood with Steve, sure, but it’s theoretical: knowing what he did just after Stamford happened, Tony wouldn’t have changed his mind.

He knows better, now. He will never work without Steve again. But this is him, and to hear that Steve’s willing to consider it . . .

“Good enough,” Steve says. “I am honest when I talk about the SHRA issue too, Tony, but believe what you will. The future is what I’m here to talk about, after all.”

“And what will this future look like?” Tony asks slowly. 

“For starters,” Steve says, “I’d like my best friend back.”

“You never lost him.”

It’s a miracle, but they both smile at each other, a little strained, but definitely relieved.

12.

As it turns out, working as Director of SHIELD when Steve’s a Commander isn’t the same dull, depressing job Tony got used to. 

It’s almost like leading the Avengers again—and Tony does miss that—but on a bigger scale. There’s less stress on his shoulders than in the months just after the war, with Steve taking some of the decisions, and they make it work. Tony finally has time to move past the disaster of the Skrull Invasion and take care of his company stocks, with plans for a new StarkPhone.

Extremis is back to working order, and even the constant headaches have all but disappeared.

He’s not as close with Steve as he used to be, but it’s so much better than Tony thought he could ever have again. They get take-away sometimes, or watch bad movies, and once Tony fell asleep on Steve and woke up under a warm blanket and an apology note, _mission in Latveria, have to go_. 

But there’s still something lacking, something near his heart, and Tony catches himself reaching for the dog tags he once wore.

He loves Steve, always has, always will. But he knows he won’t get him back in that way.

13.

Tony’s on the helicarrier deck, looking towards the sunrise. Steve would probably scold him for staying up again, but Tony’s about to sleep, really—there was a crisis in Madripoor and he’d had to assist them with Extremis—he just wanted to look at the sun.

Soft steps behind him distract him from his thoughts, and he looks through cameras on deck to see Steve approaching him, a coffee tray in his hands. 

“Morning,” Tony says, turning to face Steve.

“I got your favourite bagel,” Steve replies. 

An older memory hits Tony, and he has to blink against tears. It was a happy moment, and this is a happy moment, now; it’s just that the dark, terrible year without Steve taught him never to expect happiness again. 

“Thank you,” Tony says. 

“And your favourite coffee, but maybe that’s not a good idea right now,” Steve says.

Tony doesn’t argue with that. Instead, he bites into the bagel—chews, swallows—and he smiles. “Wonderful.” He doesn’t speak for a moment, eating it as fast as he can—he didn’t notice how hungry he was—until finally he’s licking crumbles from his fingers, and notices Steve smiling softly at him. 

“Sorry,” Tony says.

Steve’s look is weirdly intense, all of a sudden. “There’s a thing,” he says, “I’ve been wondering about.”

Tony tenses. This sounds dangerously like _we should talk_. “Yeah?”

Steve doesn’t reply verbally. Instead, he takes something from his pocket and puts in Tony’s hand.

Tony’s breath catches. He doesn’t need to look. He recognizes the object instantly, the feel of it, the weight—Steve’s dog tags.

“Why?” Tony asks quietly.

“I told you before,” Steve says. “I love you. That hasn’t changed. And . . . We clearly can work together again. We’re _good_ together. Why not be _better_?”

There’s a million reasons of why it’s a bad idea, but Tony hasn’t felt so right in years. He doesn’t have to think about his answer. He puts the dog tags around his neck once again and sighs softly.

“We’ll be _the best_ ,” he says, and a look of relief crosses Steve’s face.

They kiss on the helicarrier’s deck, in the rays of the rising sun, and Tony’s world finally comes back into place.

He digs his fingers into Steve’s back. This time, he’ll never let go again.


End file.
